It's okay it's only a dream
by OncomingBadWolf
Summary: .'It's okay, but it's not. It's a dream, but it's a nightmare…' The Doctor is sure none of it can be real anymore. One shot. Ten/Rose.


**Rating:** PG  
**Characters/Pairing: **Ten/Rose  
**Spoilers:** As long as you know about Doomsday... you're fine.  
**Disclaimer: **Copyright BBC.  
**Genre: **Angst, romance, angst, drabble, angst... wait, did I mention angst?  
**Summary:** _It's okay, but it's not. It's a dream, but it's a nightmare…_The Doctor is sure none of it can be real anymore.

**Author's Note:** I wasn't sure about posting this... it can be a little, I don't know, odd I suppose. Not one of my best, in my honest opinion, but... tell me what you think.

oOo

He has _**aching**_ dreams sometimes.

They begin the night they leave Crop Tor and do not stop there.

She leaves. Sometimes.

But much of the time she is screaming for him as she dies.

She is always screaming for him.

Always.

Sometimes, there is blood and sometimes there is not. But, when there is, she is always covered totally and absolutely with it. He cannot wipe it off. And when he touches her, his hands are instantly stained. It does not come off. The red never leaves his hands.

Occasionally, she is lost. She is lost, _**gone forever,**_ and he can never, _**never ever,**_ find her again.

Usually, her eyes are glassy. They are empty, and definitely not Rose anymore. It is in these times he wants to _**howl.**_ Howl and roar and rage and never stop.

That's all he hears. Her roaring howl; her scream.

Always.

Screaming and screaming...

He does wonder, though... when did the cold, ripping dreams and vibrant reality curl into one?.

oOo

It is abrupt and fast, the way the white, white wall closes in. Like a door; like a door slamming in his face. His senses momentarily shut down... _(no, fall down, crumpled, crumpled and **dead…**)_ leaving him blind and deaf, confused and aching.

The scream still echoes and rattles inside of his very soul.

_But it's okay. It's okay; it's only a dream._

His hands are still clinging onto the metal bar... the strange and cold and black magnetic thing that has saved him alone. His chest is cold, (_too cold, **too** cold_) and his hearts are slow and fast together. His mouth is open, and he is numb and hurt at the same time.

_But it **shall** be okay… It is only a dream after all._

His head is swimming, and his world is slowly crashing. He is walking to the wall; _no,_ not the wall, the door, the locked door he can never open again. His body wants to sway. His mind wants to close. The sun has gone. Where has the sun gone?

_It's okay. It's okay. It's okay. A dream is playing in my mind. A dream. It's okay._

His hands are touching something cool and white (_so very white; **too** white, much too white_). His head leans gently against it, this cool, white something, and there is a light. A distant sun; too distant, oh, much too distant. The life of the distant sun is pulsing with light and pain, and sadness. It is so familiar to his own pain; He wants to weep. He wants to scream.

He wants to wake.

_It's okay, but it's not. It's a dream, but it's a nightmare. _

He pulls back and turns slowly around. Everything echoes, and it is all too loud. The quiet is too loud. There should be screaming. Why is no one screaming? People should be hurting; people should be screaming...

He is hurting _**so**_ much, too much; he should be screaming.

But he is hallow.

_A dream. A bad, bad dream. Nothing more, nothing less..._

He walks away, and waits.

But he does not wake.

oOo

He is still amazed at how beautiful she looks. Even heartbroken, she is stunning. But heartbroken she is, and he knows he would give his last life and more just for one twinkling smile.

He is raw. The pain is raw. Everything is raw, bleeding, so trenchant he can smell the pain as fresh as if it is iron blood.

"_I–_" her breath hitches, and he watches.

_A dream. It's just a dream. A nightmare. Please, wake up soon. Let me wake up soon! Please... LET ME WAKE UP!_

"_I love you!_"

Oh, those three words. How he loves them, and cherishes them, and hates them, all with blinding force. He cannot help but smile, though seeing her crumpled smile back almost breaks him.

"_Quite right too._" …Because he always has been much too arrogant for his own good. "_And I suppose... if it's my last chance to say it..._"

My last chance, last chance, last chance... echoing around his head. How he hates that. How he hates this. How he hates all of this!

_How I need to wake up **now!**_

He loves her too much.

"_Rose Tyler –" _

And she's gone.

_Gone..._

He feels tears fall. Pain leaks through his eyes and it **_burns_.** His wounds **_burn_.**

It just hurts.

It hurts and yet he is still not awake.

And standing alone in the console room, with the TARDIS singing a soft melody of such mourning, he realises:

Pain cannot burn like this in nightmares.

For what feels like the thousandth time, he wants to _**scream and scream…**_

Oh, he knows now... and it kills him.

He can no longer wait.

This is no dream.


End file.
